A Story From the Deep End

Who Runs the World?

"I am dominant!" yelled Nate, pulling the shirt over his body and leaving it anchored by his neck, pounding his chest like Tarzan.

I laughed, watching Nate's antics. Derek sat across the room from me, also watching Nate with an amused smile.

"Any chance you can get, huh, Nate?" asked Jason, rolling his eyes from his chair.

Nate pulled his shirt back over his toned chest, without replying.

"Hold on, Nate. Pull your shirt back off." Jason smiled at me from across the room and I rolled my eyes. What was this about?

Nate pulled his shirt off, again, revealing the red marks he had created from pounding his chest.

Jason started laughing, turning to me and pointing behind him with his thumb. "Classic white boy!"

"So what are you?" I asked, offended by Jason's remark. I, myself, got red marks constantly, and rather disliked getting picked on for my skin's tendencies.

Jason's laughter ended suddenly, as he looked at me, his eyes questioning mine as to whether he should interpret this as flirting, or to take it offensively. "Well, I'm your classic Italian boy."

I folded my arms. "So you don't get red?"

"Well, I do- but at least I don't do stunts like that. Also, I'm better than that!" he commented, referring to the lean muscle that Nate revealed. Nate's pecks were pronounced, he had a soft six-pack, and arms mildly bumping with muscles- like the hills that he, everyday after school, would ride his bike over on his way around the city. 

"Are you, now?" I said, agitated with the amount that Jason always seemed to need to one-up the other boys. You could, undoubtedly, look at Jason and realize how bulky he was; he was gigantic, with a large chest and thick arms. The problem was, though, that he would use this as a way to show his dominance in the group, and it also seemed to function as a way to start a conversation with me. He and I often talked about weight training and gaining muscle- I, myself, did weightlifting- and Jason used this sort of circumstance as a multi-functional way to get what he wanted: alpha status and attention from me.

"Yeah," he said, smiling at me as he stood up and walked over. "You should see me when I'm coming back from the gym. I'm huge!" He flexed his arms slightly as he said this, getting within a foot from my rolling chair and looking down on me from his 6'4" altitude. 

I glanced around me, as if everything he was saying should be doubted by the masses, but merely trying to avoid his toxic stare and looking for help out of the situation. He knew that I had a thing for arms, their thickness and muscle tone, and it wasn't surprising that he tried to show how great his were. 

Jason would spent a few hours a day at the gym, and he seemed to know just how attractive he was because of it. I tried to make it seem like he didn't faze me with his defined muscle groups, but sometimes I slipped up and gave him some praise. I wouldn't allow this to be one of those circumstances.

"I highly doubt that," I said, an eyebrow raised, questioning him as I looked back, having found no help from the twenty plus bodies in the room. "You don't look so big to me."

"It has to do with the blood rushing to your muscles after you work the weights. I'm a third bigger, my arms get gigantic."

I left my eyebrow up, arms still folded.

"It's true," he said, almost begging me to believe him. "It's a fact; you can look it up right now."

"Whatever you say," I said, turning to my computer and putting in my ear buds- turning the volume all the way up and waiting for the music to block him out. In reality, I knew it was a fact, but as of this point I was both done with the conversation, still mildly upset by his ego, but also playing hard to get- although I would never admit it. 

Realizing that I wasn't interested anymore, Jason struck up a conversation with Edward, the boy sitting next to me. Coincidentally, Jason decided to pull up a chair between Edward and I, obviously aiming to start another conversation with me. His presence disturbed me; I couldn't focus on the words to the music at all. So for the rest of the period I sat there, world canceled out by music that I cared too little about, sending lifeline texts to friends who would likely never reply back (they were in class; what did I expect?),  and watching Jason through the corner of my eye.